


When The Storm Arrives

by CalamityCain



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Trailer, Blow Jobs, Crying, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity Gems, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Memory Loss, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Torture, Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 01:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13112826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: What happens when Loki is backed into a corner with nowhere for him -- or the Space Gem -- to go.Includes inaccurate portrayals of trauma-induced memory loss and more whump than strictly necessary, as if the tags alone didn't tell you that





	1. -Prologue-

**Author's Note:**

> caution: this fic contains the author playing fast and loose with science and post-traumatic disorders as well as Marvel canon in regard to Infinity Gems.

 

_If you take a life,_

_do you know what you'll give?_

_Odds are you won't like what it is_

_When the storm arrives,_

_would you be seen with me_

_By the merciless eyes of deceit?_

-You Know My Name (Chris Cornell)

 

~

 

_“You will have your war, Asgardian. If you fail, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you._

_You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.”_

_-The Other_ _(_ _Avengers –_ _2012)_

 

.

.

.

 

After half a year in the dark, the light all but shatters him.

 

He drew a shaky breath and felt air meet unyielding metal. A cough; somewhere inside, he began to bleed again. One of a million cuts and wounds. But it meant he was still alive. Even with the dead blood that filled his nose and the crusted lacerations adorning his body like latticework.

 

He could not remember what it was to draw a breath without hurt, or that his body needed sustenance. The concept of food was a faint memory. His body was ravaged yet recognisable still, its lines and dips vaguely familiar even with the angular distortions of bones that pushed against his lifeless white skin as if they longed to escape it.

 

He knew this body. But he did not know its name.

 

_What is my name?_

 

A shadow fell over him, and he would have whimpered in fear if fear had not been overridden by a black wave of despair that wanted to say _No more No more Please no more_ –

 

But it was not whom he expected. Large, strong, gentle, deep-voiced. The black wave lifted and suddenly a flicker of hope rose. The last wish of a dying god.

 

_Who are you? I know you...knew you_

He coughed some more. Felt the brush of hair on his forehead and great deep sobs that spilt tears on his naked shoulders. He knew this person, knew his scent so well (the air before a storm) that it hurt when there was no trigger, no flow of memories rushing back to fill the void. Still, there were hands stroking him now. Strong and reassuring. He barely felt the sting of the barbed chains being gently pried from his skin. What were a few more wounds when one was already broken from the inside out?

 

_“I am here.”_ A kiss. _“I’m here. You are safe now.”_

 

But _what is my name?_ his mind screamed.

 

Warm fingers fumbled with the muzzle that surely had sunk its metal edges into his face by now, so long had it bound him.

 

_“Will you let me...? I need you to hold still.”_

 

A joyless laugh bubbled inside his ruined lungs. Hold still? He could barely move if he tried.

 

_“Be very still.”_

 

A crackle, sharp and burning. It made his skin tingle. Then it made him burn. But it did not hurt as much as he thought it would. It lasted for perhaps a minute (or less, or more; what was the meaning of time now?) and then – great mercy – the cold hard muzzle was forced open and fell away and he was breathing properly again. The freedom came as a shock. He nearly choked.

 

_“Shhh, sshhh, it’s alright.”_ The voice was thick with tears again. The arms cradled him like a baby as fingers used the edge of a cloth to wipe away blood, both dried and fresh, from his mouth and jaw.

 

From far away he heard strange, broken, sad little sounds before realising they were coming from within him. He was trying to speak but after hours upon hours upon hours of screaming, this hoarse rasping was all that was left to him. A hand was stroking his hair, cradling his face, and he would sob into it but he had forgotten how.

 

The same thick, soft cloth used to clean his lips was being wrapped around him. He realised he had been cold all this while and began shivering with this sudden knowledge. But slowly warmth started to steal over him, as did the promise of rest, of succour. A rush of air, and he was being lifted to safety. He was safe now.

 

Or so he thought.

 

 


	2. Retrieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the unmaking and mending of a shattered Loki. includes hairbrushing and mention of the snake prank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or, what happens when you attempt to take a character apart by putting them through unnecessarily terrible things

_He is being stretched open, legs forced apart by steel cuffs, or by cold unyielding hands; he can't tell anymore. His gag is removed only so a ridged and leaking phallus can fill his mouth. "Show me how much you like it," someone hisses. Barely able to suck, he can only moan with stretched lips around the gargantuan cock. This pleases its owner enough. His head is locked in place and then his throat, already raw from screaming, is being put to rigorous use. They delight in his choking and gagging and the involuntary tears that follow. He struggles to breathe. The chains around his chest seems to tighten with every push of the awful, obscenely large appendage._

 

_“Now, pretty one,” says his tormentor after he’s gasping and shivering and come-stained, “you can give up the treasure you swallowed, or we can split you open with the same cock you’ve just pleasured. And see how fast your godly body heals with each tear. Then, after it is done, we will find a hundred different ways to open you up; slice open your gut, your lungs, your juicy cunt, until the gem yields itself.” A hand strokes his face. “What say you, little prince?”_

 

_“I would...I would give it up, if I could,” Loki replies in a hoarse whisper. “You’ve attempted to remove it from me, and it only buried itself deeper. You can s-slice me open again and again, and it’ll make no difference.” He is weak with terror, and with exhaustion. He has long ceased to entertain thoughts of escape. He wants only to sleep. To stop feeling for just a while._

 

_“Please. T-tell Thanos...I cannot...I tried...”_

 

_In response, he gets a sneer and a laugh. He is being pushed face-first to the ground as his legs are pulled wider apart and a rough hand squeezes his ass. “Looks like we do this the hard way.”_

 

_“No! Please!” A last ragged plea before the muzzle gag goes back on. “Nngggfffhh...mmmfff...” His insides seem to be fighting for air, or trying to escape his body to avoid what it’s about to be subject to._

 

_He feels the pressure between his legs._

_And then the screams begin._

 

 

“ _Loki._ Loki!!”

 

_–  is that – my name_

Someone was shaking him hesitantly, afraid to injure him further but determined to wake him from the nightmare holding him captive.

 

_Loki. My name is Loki._

 

He woke to his own screaming – no, not screams, but strangled half-cries from a wasted throat that sounded loathsomely pitiful. He was safe now – he was in the strong warm arms of his rescuer, the achingly familiar person whose name still eluded him. His cries died down as he clung weakly to the fabric of the shirt stretched over that broad chest.

 

“Loki. _Shhh._ I am here. I am here now.”

 

More stroking and patting and countless touches that knew just how to calm him. When he opened his eyes, his vision had cleared somewhat, where before everything had been a broken blur. He saw a halo of golden hair; the bluest of blue eyes gazing into his. No, one eye. The other was missing or obscured; a strange blight on a radiant face that was both fierce and gentle.

 

He swallowed and forced himself to form words. Each syllable is a raspy whisper, grating to his own ears. “Your name...”

 

“What, brother? What is it?”

 

_Brothers? We are brothers? But what do I –_

 

“What is your name? I can’t remember.”

 

A small, sharp intake of breath. “You cannot...Loki. Do you not know me?”

 

“I remember you – ” Tears welled up and spilt over. “I remember parts of you...but I d-don’t know where...my mind is...”

 

He couldn’t even sob properly, it hurt. All he could do was let himself be cradled to the expanse of chest and breathe in the comforting smell of _brother_. It seemed a wonderful thing to have. A brother who seemed to know him intimately, who was holding him exactly the way he needed to be held, for as long as he needed to be held.

 

The lips that kissed him and brushed soothingly against his hair answered him at last. “Thor. I am Thor. And I am yours, as you are mine.”

 

_“Thor.”_ The half-sobs died down as the name formed on his lips. “Thor. I remember you.”

 

Then the world slowly solidified as something missing clicked into place. He fell back into sleep, and it was good and dreamless.

 

 

 

 

“He stole the Tesseract. He broke from it the Space Gem, and swallowed it whole.”

 

“But _why??”_

 

Heimdall paused a long time before answering. “I would be wary of assuming selfless acts from Loki. But if one did not know him too well, one might say he was trying to keep Thanos from it. There must be some advantage to locking away the Gem in his own body that we cannot fathom.” The golden eyes looked heavy as they wandered the ceiling. “It’s clear he only tenuously succeeded. The Gauntlet continues to lack one Gem...”

 

“But at what cost?” Thor buried his head in his hands. “And how long would we be able to hold him off? And what is the effect on Loki if his body continues to host an Infinity Stone?”

 

“That, I cannot say. Such is the unpredictable nature of these objects. Humans and lesser beings would perish – yet your good friend Jane Foster survived the Aether gem’s hold. Loki is not in immediate mortal danger. But how long that will continue to be...if it will eat at him slowly, or drain his life force...” The great watcher held up his palms. “Such an act is unprecedented. So the results will be also.”

 

Thor got up and began to pace relentlessly. “What worries me is why Thanos allowed me to take Loki without a single challenge. He knows something we don’t. He is confident of getting the Space Gem. Which means...”

 

Thor stared helplessly into a glorious horizon of purples and golds, not seeing any of it. _Which means Loki doesn’t matter. It means he is disposable._

 

After all they had been through, having been torn apart several times over, he would lay down his own dead body before allowing Loki to be taken again. Taken for good. _No; do not dwell on it._

 

Yet he could not stop the wave of horror, still fresh in his mind, from chilling his veins. He had landed on that forsaken desert of a moon, lair of an all-powerful tyrant, expecting to have to sacrifice a limb in return for retrieving his brother. But the multitude of chambers within chambers had been empty; eerily, threateningly so. He had felt like an insect drawn into a malicious web, and yet he knew he could not turn back.

 

Then he laid his remaining eye on the emaciated, broken being, beautiful even in that wasted state; and he had knelt and cried, and raged. With exceeding gentleness he cradled his dearest, his matchless, mischievous terrible Loki, without whom he was only one half of a whole.

 

Removing the chains was an awful process – each link was barbed and embedded in skin – but eventually he got them all off, rubbing some blood-stopping salve into the deeper wounds. Wasteful, perhaps, to empty the few vials he had taken with him; but he feared Loki could not afford to lose more blood. Judging from the horrific half-healed cuts and lacerations all over the pale torso, he had lost much already.

 

His captors need not have bothered with those monstrous chains. Loki could not have crawled away if his life depended on it. And the muzzle, meant to lock away his spoken magic, was a mockery when he had long been rendered voiceless. He was fragile, so heartbreakingly fragile in Thor’s arms that suddenly felt too large. And yet he had looked into Thor’s face with such achingly intense gratitude – even without knowing his name.

 

The people of Asgard were all too willing to jump to his aid at first. Who would not have been moved, seeing the beaten creature in his arms who with every shred of consciousness gasped with pain and unspoken torment? But soon enough, it became clear that Loki, prince or no prince, was sapping the reserves of herbs and ointments and charms with his grievous wounds. If the citadels of Asgard were not a blackened ruin on a destroyed planet and healing supplies were not something to be carefully rationed, it would have been a different matter. Yesterday the Head Healer had reluctantly and with all due tact informed him that she could no longer spare more anaesthetic hvíla-leaf.

 

“But he hurts with every waking moment,” Thor said – angrily, pleadingly.

 

“He will have to make do. We will all have to make do. He _is_ mending, more steadily than you think.” She frowned. “The state of his mind is more worrying to me. But my stores for healing that, too, is limited.”

 

“And the Gem...?” This was a secret shared only with her and Heimdall. No one else on the ship knew what lay nestled within Loki’s belly.

 

“So far it does not appear to harbour ill effects. Strange ones, yes; as a matter of fact, everything immediately surrounding the Gem is completely healed. Perhaps it is the nature of Infinity Stones to preserve themselves at all costs. This may mean good things. Or bad.”

 

“By that you mean – ” But he already knew.

 

“Anyone seeking to steal the Space Gem must steal him along with it. And if the Gem were to be used for its true purpose – to, well, open a portal to other dimensions...”

 

Thor refused to contemplate it. Except he did. He pictured the scream of a body being ripped apart to make a hole into another world, and walked away with fear pounding in his blood.

 

 

 

 

The golden restorative orbs cast over him bathed his face in a soft glow, but it was a face increasingly pinched with pain and the torment of what Thor imagined were recurring nightmares. He stroked Loki’s hair and neck; it always seemed to soothe him. At least all the wounds had closed up. The visible ones, anyway. And he had stopped coughing up blood.

 

The incident of two days ago was still fresh in his mind – Loki had been fully awake for once, seemingly lucid if still missing large parts of his memory. His face pale but attentive, he had fixed those lovely green eyes on Thor’s face as if lapping up his every word.

 

“It’s so...strange,” he said at last in a mostly-healed voice that was slightly raspy still. “Parts of what you’re saying makes sense. But other things...” His eyes lost focus again the way they occasionally did, albeit less frequently than before.

 

Thor had reached for him, and suddenly he was alert again and withdrawing sharply, like a frightened animal. “I’m not going to hurt you!” Thor said, a little too loudly. Then again, in a lower tone: “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Alright?” He slowly took Loki’s brittle hand in his. The latter calmed down somewhat, and even offered the ghost of a smile. It was a pitiful thing, as if he wanted to assure his caretaker that he was being good, he was trying his best and _Please don’t punish me_ was what the tense narrowing of his shoulders seemed to say.

 

“Do you remember who I am?”

 

“You are Thor. You are my brother.”

 

“Yes. And I love you.”

 

The ghostly smile became something warmer, more genuine. Thor’s heart had lifted, buoyant for just a moment.

 

And then suddenly the thin body had jerked like a marionette and he was assaulted with a series of violent coughs before spewing red over his sheets, vivid drops that bloomed like flowers and made Thor dizzy with panic even as he rang the bell for the healers. His heart had truly threatened to stop when the spasms ceased and Loki fell into a slump with his head at an odd angle, perfectly still, perfectly lifeless.

 

Thor had refused to leave the room until he saw the glassy eyes flicker and come back to life. Even then all he wanted to do was abandon his duties entirely to sit at his brother’s side day and night.

 

There had been some improvement since then. What was worrying, though, was how little he ate still. He was undernourished to the point of being nearly translucent; bloodless blue veins showed starkly beneath the skin of his wrists, his neck, his calves.

 

Loki stirred and moaned. Torn between waking him and letting him rest, Thor decided instead to try something else that they had not done since they were young boys. All he needed was a hairbrush.

 

 

 

_They flay his back and thighs bloody. The Titan and his minions seem to feast on his cries when he can no longer bite them back, the broad, calculating face growing bloated on triumph with every whiplash. They clamp the muzzle on his face as they please; mostly when he is already too broken to make much noise. And he is left alone with his muffled sobs spilling uselessly into the ground._

_Two days later, when the cuts heal into a tapestry of raised scars, they carve open his front instead._

_He is constantly jerked in and out of consciousness. Death will not come for him. The Gem buries itself ever deeper, shifting and dematerializing whenever its pursuers draw too close. With each shift or twist of the stone he feels his insides burning as it scorches a new pathway through his gut or lodges itself somewhere between his lungs, so that every breath he draws is like swallowing fire._

_It is enough to drive anyone mad._

_Enough to make anyone forget who they are._

_Another twist. He arches his back to scream – but his limbs meet with softness, suddenly, and the red-hot pain goes dim._

Someone is propping him up with utmost care. _Thor._

_His name is Thor, and he is my brother, and he smells like the air before a storm._

At least he still remembers what storms are like.

 

He is resting on what must be Thor’s lap. Then his neck is being cradled, his hair lifted so it spills over the muscled thigh. There is the sensation of a soft brush.

 

Thor is brushing his hair.

He opened his eyes. Pain crept back in, but it paled in comparison to the anguish of his dreams. He knew the waking pain would lessen as his body mended. In the meantime, there was Thor and his strong gentle hands, Thor with his lovely generous lips and lone blue eye full of fierce devotion.

 

The brush running through his hair was more than soothing – it filled his head with memories seemingly from someone else’s life. He felt very small; he _was_ small, kneeling on the floor, and the ceiling looked staggeringly high. Yet the chamber was cosy. And there was sun pouring in from a lofty window. There was a woman’s voice hovering just above him. Telling him to lean on her lap. Her hand held the brush that pulled its bristles through his hair, gently massaging his scalp with each stroke.

 

“Do you remember, Loki?” said Thor in the present, combing his hair the very same way as the woman did.

 

He blinked, and the high-ceilinged chamber disappeared. The room they were in now was spartan by comparison. But it was clean, and the bed was soft and firm, and Thor was holding him in the same way his –

 

“Mother.”

 

A hand seemed to grip his heart tightly before releasing it so that air rushed back into his lungs like the rush of memories – _Mother._ The scent of the blossom-heavy tree outside the  window near her bed. Her face filled in like ink soaking into a blank canvas. The honey-gold hair, just a shade deeper than Thor’s. The full lips that whispered bedtime stories into the dark of night, that twisted in disapproval when he had stabbed Thor while disguised as a little garden snake (yes, he remembered this suddenly, and smiled), that sang to herself while she braided her hair or while she smoothed his out.

 

“What are you thinking of?” Thor asked, running that soothing brush through his hair.

 

“I’m wondering why I stabbed you when we were…when we were little.”

 

“Which instance was that? You’ll have to be more specific.”

 

He arched his neck to gaze up incredulously at Thor. “How often _did_ I do that?”

 

“As often as you chased after me adoringly.”

 

_“Please.”_

 

The sharpness in his voice pleased Thor. “Now you’re starting to sound like yourself.”

 

Loki said nothing for a while, humming in pleasure at the steady strokes of the brush against his scalp. Then, “Can I really turn myself into a snake?”

 

“Ahh, so it was _that_ instance.” Thor smiled. “You were eight, if I recall correctly. I must have said something to offend you, though knowing you it would have been several days ago, and so I don’t remember what exactly it was I said. You were famous for holding grudges.”

 

“Hmm. If you say so.”

 

“And yes; you do have shapeshifting abilities, though it’s a bit inconstant, depending on your mood. You could try it, once you get your strength back.”

 

The brushing stopped and Loki bit back a whine. He wanted it to continue. He wanted to lie here forever and think of high-ceilinged chambers and golden halls and sunlight –

 

“Speaking of which.” Thor piled up a few pillows and propped him up against them, then brought a plate stacked with bread and cheese. “If you want your strength back…”

 

Loki’s stomach tightened anxiously. “Don’t you have something lighter…like soup, maybe?”

 

“Our variety of food is a lot more limited since we became ship-dwelling nomads, though we are scouting for a suitable planet to inhabit… But we did manage to force-feed you some thin soup while you were unconscious.” Thor smiled when he made a face, and held out a chunk of bread. “Now you need something sturdier.”

 

Reluctantly, Loki bit into it. The sudden taste of real food was almost too much to bear. His tongue lapped up every bit of flavour in the brown crust, the salty cheese… But then he swallowed, and his body revolted. He stiffened and struggled to keep the food down.

 

Thor’s hand was on his back, rubbing in broad circles. “You are too tense. Easy, now. Try a smaller bite.”

 

Three more morsels made their way successfully down without him throwing up. Even this simplest of acts left him drained, and with a frustrated sound he slumped back against the pillows.

 

“No,” he muttered when the unfinished slice of bread was held near his mouth.

 

“Loki, in the past week I have seen you through far more undignified things than a bit of feeding – ”

 

“And you have to remind me of that, do you?” Again, that sharpness; but this time it was barbed. His cheeks were flushed as he turned away.

 

“Why are you always so full of pride? Would you rather waste away?”

 

Loki wished he had enough strength to cross his arms and fume, even as it occurred to him how childish it would be. Strangely, he _did_ feel like a child. What with the great blank stretches in his recollection of everything he had ever experienced, all that he and Thor had lived through…and the most vivid memories left to him were those of torture and humiliation.

 

“Damn it!” he hissed.

 

No. More than that – there was murder. The image hit him suddenly, presenting itself with startling clarity where before there had been a dark blur. The slaughter of a hundred, or two hundred; he had not stopped to count. His eyes burned hotter than his cheeks and he closed them, but not soon enough to stop the tears.

 

_Bodies. Bodies everywhere, beneath his feet, drowning him in their blank eyes that stared up at nothing, except when their gazes met his accusingly. He had brought this to them. What choice did he have now? He held up his palm, and the glowing cube materialised as his fingers curled around it. Already a terrible idea was forming in his head. This was the only way…_

_His fingers pressed down on the cube even as he held it out. With his mind, he applied the same pressure. The surface cracked, then shattered. And he was holding the Gem in his hand – glowing blindingly bright in the blood-soaked dark._

_“Give it to me.” A voice like the whirling of a black hole spoke in his mind._

_“Yes,” he replied – his body signalling surrender, eyes wide, head tilted back in submission._

_Then suddenly, he withdrew the Gem. And took it into his own body._

_There was a screech of rage as the dark general loomed over him. The stone burned like a cold fire as it made its way down his gullet. He heard Thor cry out from a seemingly great distance. Then he felt a web of ink-black shadows sinking into him, bearing him away. The last thing he saw was his brother’s anguished face as they reached out to each other and their fingers stopped just short of touching –_

His eyes flew open. His face was wet. “How many?” he gasped.

 

“How many…?” Thor echoed.

 

_“How many died_ because I surrendered it too late?” Loki’s body was on the last of its energy reserves, yet still he was stiff with hopeless rage.

 

Thor swallowed. ““Fifty two.  Forty soldiers; the rest civilians.” He reached out to hug Loki, only for the latter to edge away. “Yes, their deaths weigh heavy on us. But few who witnessed it blame you, Loki. They are far outnumbered by those who consider what you did next an act of sacrifice.”

 

Loki shook his head, trying to clear it of the nightmarish vision. “No. No, there were more…there were at least two hundred…”  


“It must have been an illusion.”

 

“No. I…I must be going mad, then.” He shivered with fear, confusion. He could not stop shivering.

 

“Loki. You’re exhausted. Rest, and later you must try to eat again.”

 

The tension gave out suddenly; he went limp and sank into the pillows. “I don’t want to fall asleep,” he whispered, even as his eyelids failed to stay up.

 

“I will stay with you. I’ll wake you if the nightmares come.”

 

“Promise?”

 

In response, Thor got into bed with him and held him close. As he drifted away, one last stray thought squeezed into his fading consciousness.

 

“How did you lose your eye?”

 

“Your sister took it from me. She was twice as vicious as you were, as that is saying something.”

 

“Will you tell me about her later?”

 

“Of course. Rest now.”

 

A hand was on his back, pulling the blanket over him. He sighed and fell into slumber before he had taken two breaths.

 


	3. Missing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kissing, potatoes on Mars, Asgard's only surviving smartphone, and post-rape trauma. things escalate quickly around here. you know what else escalates quickly? the Hulk

.

A lamp that mimicked the rising of the sun told him he would soon be late for his duties.

 

He hated to wake Loki. But he had promised to be with him while he slept, and he did not want to break a promise in the fragile but promising state his brother was in.

 

Never mind that the conniving little liar had betrayed _him_ more times than he can remember. Thor sometimes – nay, often – thinks himself a fool for still opening his arms to Loki after all the literal and metaphorical backstabbing. But then, who else did he have in all the worlds? Even when they were apart, he could go on living well knowing Loki was somewhere out there, no doubt in the midst of plotting mischief that he might sooner or later be called upon to fix.

 

And here he was, so innocent in sleep. Even with the gauntness of his starved flesh, he looked achingly young. Thor brushed back a stray lock of hair from his face. “Loki.” Shook his shoulders gently. “I have to go now.”

 

“Mmmm.” A child-like, artless sound that made him even more reluctant to leave. He felt the urge to lean in for a kiss. He wondered if Loki had any recollection of the nature of their relationship, which had been quite a bit more than brotherly, even when they were young boys . Would Loki object if he took those thin, soft lips in his? Would he be welcomed, or find himself pushed away with a look of revulsion?

 

There was one way to find out.

 

Thor clasped Loki’s neck and chin to turn the latter’s face toward his. He closed his eyes and very gently pressed his mouth against Loki’s.

 

A faint sound escaped – was it longing? Protest? He kept at it, willing his brother to respond. There it was again: that sound. A sigh of pleasure. Then Loki’s lips were parting and moulding themselves to his, his body arching ever so slightly even in its weakened, sleep-heavy state.

 

Still cradling Loki’s neck, he slid another hand beneath the torso and lifted Loki closer to him. He deepened the kiss, holding on till he felt the skin against his grow warm and Loki’s eyelashes tickled his cheeks as they fluttered. When he pulled back, the green eyes were open, dazed, with the look of freshly-blown glass.

 

Loki did not say anything, and he did not know what to say in turn. He settled for one last brief kiss on the forehead; then slid out of the bed and pulled his boots on.

 

“I need to go…I’ll send for some food. Promise me you’ll eat. Alright?”

 

He lingered only long enough to coax a nod out of Loki before turning, somewhat awkwardly, to leave.

 

 

 

_Sliding hastily under the covers. Clumsy young hands fumbling with buttons before he had learnt to enchant their clothes off. The delicious hesitance of discovery, of marvelling at the ways in which the body responded to the right touch. And somewhere in that unpretty mess of adolescent urges, a kiss. The first of many to come._

_In the bedchambers; in the bath; beneath the fruit-heavy trees, and biting into the juicy apples after the hot sticky game that smelt faintly of guilt. And guilt did not stop them – if anything, their stolen moments grew more ardent for it._

_That first kiss had been rough, almost bruising. Some days later, however, there came time to do it properly – a proper first kiss. Slow and soft, then deeper, deeper, lips parting until the first brush of tongue against tongue occurred._

_With the memory of that wondrous unfolding, more missing pieces fell into place in the fractured puzzle that was his mind. He saw the places they used to play and tumble and fight. He saw the fierce, laughing kids who would grow up to be the Warriors Three and the Shieldmaiden Sif. He wondered if they knew that the two boy siblings who were their closest playmates were ever minutes from scurrying away to grope each other like lovers._

Loki sighed restlessly in bed. There was no recovering from that tentative kiss; he hungered for more. Almost wishing he had not been given it, for one cannot miss what one does not know (or has forgotten). Repeatedly he pressed his fingers to his lips as if to capture some invisible mark that Thor’s warm soft mouth had left.

 

His gaze fell onto the platter on his bedside table – it had been replenished with fresh bread, although the same dry slab of cheese remained – and his resolve grew. He _would_ get his strength back. If only so he could pursue his brother and demand another kiss. A proper kiss.

 

Perhaps even a rough, bruising one.

 

 

 

 

“Apparently you can grow potatoes on Mars,” was one of the first things that caught Thor’s ears as he walked into the small, circular room where maps and constellation charts lined the walls.

 

“Mars?”

 

Bruce Banner turned around, in the midst of wiping his glasses. He had a habit of cleaning them unnecessarily when he was tired but excited.

 

“Uh, yeah. The red planet next to Midgard.”

 

“I know where it is. But it’s fit only for the simplest life forms. The quantities of water have been exaggerated, I heard, and to date it remains uninhabited.”

 

“Water can be chemically produced now,” piped a young researcher who reminded Thor very much of Jane. She was a former astronomer who had settled among humans for a long time before returning to Asgard, and had mingled with some of the brightest scientific minds on Earth. “From different substances. Including those found in the air on Mars. If Midgardians can do it, so can we. I’ve been successful in small-scale experiments – but I’ll need more time to make a working model of something that can sustain a whole community.”

 

Heimdall nodded. “And even if Roskva’s models take time to build, there are the thick glaciers to tap from. They run all around the planet.”

 

“With minimal filtration – oh, the Earthlings are fantastic with filters of all sorts, even if many of them are cumbersome things – well, we’d have plenty of drinkable and usable water while my team and I fine-tune things. With your good Doctor’s help.” Roskva gestured to Bruce, who grinned like a child who has been promised new toys.

 

“We just need your approval to chart a course for Marsgard. Uhm. That’s our working name for it.”

 

The more Thor considered it, the more viable – or at least appealing – it seemed. The proximity to Midgard might even ease the way for the construction of a new Bifrost… he admitted it was selfish of him, but he did miss the company of the Avengers. Missed them sorely, now that the Warriors Three were feasting in Valhalla and Sif had not returned from her sudden disappearance. And of course, there was Jane. He hoped she would continue to welcome him as a friend; that she had found another, worthy lover. (Hope that she did not attempt to kiss him and find a lingering taste of his brother on his lips.)

 

Although…selfish intentions aside, it did beg the question: “Why not find a place on Midgard itself to establish a settlement? Or perhaps integrate into existing ones?”

 

Both Roskva and Bruce wore looks that told him they had already analysed the option and thrown it out the window.

 

“The thing is – ” “Bureaucracy – ” “The governments on Earth aren’t big on immigrants – ” “Refugee programs are complicated, and we are essentially – ” “Mountains of paperwork, at the very least – ”

 

He held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Mars it is.” He turned to Roskva and her crew, who all looked like they could use a solid two days’ sleep. “And after you get some rest...I’d like to know more about the potatoes.”

 

 

 

 

A short span of four days appeared to have worked wonders. Though still thinner than full health dictated, there was a hint of colour in those sharp cheekbones, and he had lost that starved, glassy-eyed look. Thor entered to find Loki finally out of bed and propped up on the window seat, nose in a book.

 

“It helps that I’ve acquired the skill of not throwing up everything I eat,” Loki said drily as he allowed Thor to feed him handfuls of grapes.

 

“What are you reading?” Thor peered over at the worn cover of the tome on his lap.

 

“This and that. I’m having to relearn some of the spells and runes I used to know. Though it’ll be some time before I’m strong enough to try them out.” A small scowl.

 

“Patience was never in your nature.” Thor couldn’t help his teasing tone – he was glad for that scowl, the hint of sharpness.

 

“Hmmph.” Loki gazed at the floating dark outside. “It’s a pity I have so few memories of the sun. How do I miss what I barely...?” His words trailed off. He shook his head irritably.

 

“Here.” Thor reached out to tap the translucent sphere hanging above the window. The sun-lamp filled the space with a pleasant warm glow, glints of gold catching in Loki’s ink-dark hair. His eyes dropped back down to his book for a second, and something about the softness of his lashes made Thor’s heart skip a beat. He found himself reaching into his pocket. “Stay there – don’t move.”

 

“What are you – ” Loki looked sardonic and amused. “Does that...belong to...” The name was a blank in his mind, but an image formed of a dark haired mortal man, irritatingly clever, with laughing brown eyes. He also saw himself attempting, for some reason, to throw this man out of a window.

 

“Stark would be surprised I’ve kept his present,” Thor said as he held up the slim device of chrome and black glass. “Seeing as it’s mostly useless out here...save for one function. Hold still for just a moment, would you?”

 

If Loki had been fully his old self, Thor would have caught him with eyes mid-roll and a mocking mouth. Instead, the picture that appeared on the screen was a vision. Thanks to a particular trick of the phone’s camera, the lamp’s glow was even more daylight-like than in real life, and somewhat diffused. It caught in Loki’s mussed and softly tumbling hair, lingered on the curve of his cheekbone, lent colour to his pale lips which were slightly parted. It met with the shadow in the pools of his collarbones and turned its edge to velvet. It was trapped as tiny golden flecks in his eyes, which had a slightly dreamy, searching look. A hand floated over the half-turned page of the book in his lap. He always did have exquisite fingers.

 

“A picture worthy of being blown up and hung in every available corner,” Thor declared.

 

“I would never forgive you.” A smile danced at the corner of that mouth as Loki returned to his reading.

 

Thor paused a moment longer to drink in the sight of his brother surrounded by books and bathed in mock sunlight. “Can I trust you to feed yourself for the rest of the day?”

 

Loki hefted the thick hardcover. “Are you testing if I’ve the strength to throw this thing at your head?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I was.” Thor smiled and turned to leave.

 

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

 

He stopped dead in the doorway. Turned back around with a suddenly pounding heart that made him giddy. “What?” was all he could say, stupidly.

 

Loki rose from the sofa and slowly moved toward him. “I said, _aren’t you going to kiss me?_ ”

 

He made it nearly all the way across the stretch of floor before his still-shaky legs gave out. Thor caught him in time, holding him flush against his own chest and cherishing the way Loki clung to his shoulders. “Do you really want me to – ”

 

“ _Please_ don’t make me repeat myself.” Loki glared, but the mouth beneath was parted and soft and inviting.

 

Then they were reaching for each other and kissing deeply, desperately, with all the hunger of new-born babes who must suckle or die. When Loki started to buckle in his arms, Thor swept him up and brought him to the bed, barely pausing for breath before claiming those lips again.

 

Loki’s hand was in his hair, running through his short shaggy locks. “I remember it being longer.”

 

“It was taken forcibly from me. It’ll grow out. Or you can lend me yours.” He tugged at the black mane lightly before burying his fingers in it, then his face, inhaling the scent that was ever so uniquely Loki’s.

 

They clung to each other and breathed into each other and savoured the growing wet warmth of mouth against panting mouth. Greedily, Thor slid a hand beneath his brother’s shirt while another pulled at the waistband of his pants.

 

That was when Loki tensed and pulled away. He did not feel this shift at first, or understand that the soft cry meant ‘stop’ and not ‘more’. When he pinned his brother to the bed and pushed up the fabric to savour more of that smooth flesh, he felt a hint of a struggle and mistook it for the impatience of arousal.

 

“Stop,” Loki hissed, finally. Then, louder: “Stop!”

 

Shaken abruptly out of his explorations, Thor looked up to see a stiff white face with a hard mouth twisted downward. It might have been a look of disgust were it not for the reddening eyes that were holding back tears.

 

Loki’s chest was heaving. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t – they’ve ruined – I can’t – ”

 

“Don’t. It’s not your fault. It’s alright.” Thor felt his heart, so buoyant mere seconds ago, grow heavy with hurt (and more than a little anger). The golden moment of sunlight and that familiar, happy rush of lust was put out like a candle. He held Loki against his chest and tried not to let the slow burn of rage coursing through his sinews show. _How_ dare _they – how dare anyone hurt him like this –_

 

After a long while, the shivering stopped.

 

“Loki,” Thor asked cautiously. “Would it help if...if you told me...”

 

A soft, strangled sound escaped the suddenly brittle creature that gripped his shirt as if clinging on for dear life.

 

“What exactly did they do to you?”

 

 

 

 

What did they do to him? They taught him to associate the pleasures of the flesh with pain. To know that every sliver of arousal must be followed, inevitably, by its equal in agony.

 

It was not a hard lesson to learn.

 

The Black Order was a very particular synthesis of individuals whose skills, when combined, turned the singular quality of sadism into a multi-faceted thing, and cruelty into high art. He knew their voices and the slither of their clothes before he knew their faces. They were introduced to him in darkness. In darkness he was undone and remade.

 

These were his tormentors:

 

Ebony Maw, he with the voice like a black vortex, who sank dread and nightmares like ink into the crevices of the mind where they were hardest to erase, and who could inflict suffering without lifting a finger;

 

Proxima, who smelt of leather and sounded like cool silk, whose burning whip would come out of nowhere, and whose swift knives made countless small cuts that took their time to hurt and to burn;

 

Corvus, the towering mate of Proxima, a dominant presence with a raspy voice full of gnashing teeth that was strangely emotionless for all its ferocity.

 

They came to him in turn like dark infallible gods, or sometimes in a pair; never in the same room at once except for when he first met them. There were other members, he knew. They were not physically present. But he felt them hovering at the edges of his consciousness like formless shadows as if the stone nestling inside him drew them in inexorably.

 

Robbed of movement and sight, he learnt to anticipate the threat of violence in the timbre of a voice or the rhythm of footsteps. He learnt the many ways in which the body could be used, debauched and despoiled; especially with the resilient nature of his own that allowed for skin and muscle to heal so it could be tortured anew. He learnt that there was only ever one way out through the passage of suffering, and that was to allow himself to be broken.

 

The nature of his lessons were as such:

 

ONE

For each disobedience, a bone – or two if the transgression warranted it. At the slightest sign of refusal, Corvus would take Loki’s hand as if in a firm handshake, and without so much as a warning, break one of his fingers. Twice he failed to debase himself sufficiently to suit his teacher’s standards. The second time he passed out from the pain, his face wet with tears of white-hot shock. He was kicked awake. He pleaded for mercy knowing there was none in this place.

 

TWO

For speaking out of turn, a needle and thread. The sensation of having his mouth sewn shut shook him to the core. It was somehow more of a shock than having two of his fingers crushed by Corvus’ stick. Proxima’s needlework was a flawless as her knifework. She cradled his head and hummed the whole time. After it was done she whipped him as harshly as her voice was cool and tender. When his flesh was freed from the thread three days later, he felt like he would never speak again.

 

THREE  
If he could suffer in silence at the hands of Proxima or her husband, he could barely hold back his torment under Ebony Maw. While the other two inflicted torments on his flesh and bone, Ebony could plunge him into nightmarish realms and drown him in his worst fears – from which there was no escape. He would be plunged through ten levels of horror (including monsters who wore the faces of those few he held dear, and who came to him bearing hope before revealing their true visage) before emerging to find that only minutes had passed. He obeyed every command that came from the maw of this dreaded spectre, no matter how painful or degrading, and still the punishment came.   

 

And then, when he was a half-blind shattered thing without a shred of hope to his name, they handed him to Thanos and his underlings. From artists of torture he would fall into the grasp of simpler but equally brutal creatures who would attempt to carve from him the glowing blue stone.

 

Somewhere along the way, he made the choice between misery and forgetfulness. He sank willingly into any form of all-consuming darkness or respite from what he was made to suffer when awake.

 

The self is a terrible thing to lose. But it’s not so hard to lose when you’ve nothing to gain.

 

 

 

 

Brunnhilde, the last Valkyrie of a kingdom that no longer stood, pushed him the fullest bottle she could find in their somewhat depleted stocks. “I’ve never seen a face that could use this more,” she remarked.

 

“Then you should have seen my brother’s,” Thor replied hollowly. When he had left the bedchamber, Loki was a small crumpled heap under the covers, exhausted from sobbing himself raw, and alternately clinging to Thor and pushing him fiercely away. It was as if a stopper had been pulled to release nearly six months’ worth of horrors that shook both of them to the core.

 

He had never seen that face so painfully naked and flushed with crying. He felt as if his own heart were being flayed and his layers being peeled back so as to cause maximum hurt to his exposed organs. All he could do was let Loki wail against his chest and shoulder when he wasn’t being shoved away. After a while the tears ran out and hoarse dry sobs gave way to a sort of hyperventilating, which made Thor panic anew when the red face rapidly turned bluish and it seems Loki’s lungs had given up on him.

 

_“Breathe; please; you need to breathe,”_ he kept murmuring like a useless mantra while rubbing the thin back and massaging the heaving chest. To his relief Loki did eventually start drawing breath normally again. The dark eyelashes fluttered; it seemed he was on the verge of losing consciousness. He collapsed into Thor’s waiting arms.

 

Then, the faintest whisper. _“Kiss me.”_

 

Thor brushed the damp, tangled locks of hair from his face. “Are you sure?”

 

“Kiss me again. Please.”

 

He cradled Loki and acquiesced tentatively to the request: forehead first, then cheek, then a chaste kiss on the mouth; followed by a slightly less chaste, longer one. Loki sighed, seeming to have found some small measure of solace from this, and fell into sleep seconds after.

 

Thor tried to keep these few tender moments in his head – as opposed to the traumatic ones preceding them – as he filled a glass and took a swig of the amber-coloured liquid. “Does drinking to forget really work?”

 

“Unfortunately, the forgetting part only lasts so long. Sooner or later it all comes rushing back.” Brunnhilde contemplated the bottle, probably wondering if she should join him or save it for a rainy day of her own. “Memories are harder to kill than we think.”

 

“Not that hard. It depends how far you’re willing to go.” Another swig; the glass was empty.

 

“What are we talking about again?”

 

He poured a refill, knocked back the lot. “I should never have asked him about it. I thought it would help him heal, but...” Again that crumpled face and broken stare haunted him. Thor buried his head in his hands. “They damaged him. They took away his...his life. When I first brought him here, he couldn’t even remember my name. Could barely remember his _own._ ”

 

Brunnhilde put an arm around him in a rare gesture of tenderness. “And now?”

 

“It’s coming back to him...in bits. He has recollections of our mother. Less so our father. I have yet to tell him they are both dead.”

 

Stating the fact – the loss of his family, and the near-loss of his last remaining sibling – brought everything that had happened crashing down on his shoulders. Quite suddenly, to his own surprise, Thor started crying.

 

He wept great sobs into his glass, knowing he had only ever cried like that in front of his mother when he was very young, and somehow failing to be ashamed of it. He was glad they were alone, though. Brunnhilde did not say anything but held him until he stopped. Her hand rubbed his back reassuringly. He squeezed her hand in thanks.

 

When he let go of her, she poured him another half-portion before putting the bottle away. “Better save this for more hard days ahead, don’t you think?”

 

Thor smiled as he wiped his eyes. “You are a gift.”

 

She smiled back. “I try.”

 

He rose and arched his tired shoulders. “I should go and ask Banner about his research on the Mars settlement.”

 

“Banner, huh?” Brunnhilde looked thoughtful. “Does one of his many Ph.D things involve...I don’t know...”  


“I never thought about it.” Thor frowned. “Loki is an intensely private person, but – ”

 

“You’re saying he’s not completely himself. Maybe it’s a chance to get inside his head, while his barrier is still down.” She stole one last look at the crate of liquor, then slammed the lid shut resolutely. “Might not get another chance.”

 

 

 

 

“I still don’t know if this is a good idea,” Bruce said as Thor walked him to Loki’s chamber. “He might still have subconscious memories of our...er...past clashes.”

 

“It’s worth a try, though, surely.”

 

“Alright...but again, as I’ve said, psychology or psychiatry is not one of my fields. I do have a good general understanding, and of course personal experience with therapy, but – ”

 

Thor clasped his shoulder. “Bruce, you are a man of science and knowledge; but more importantly, you’re a friend. I don’t trust just anyone with this. But I trust you.”  
  
Bruce responded with one of his diffident smiles. “Let’s just hope I’m worthy of that trust.”

 

“You already are.”

 

“Well, then let’s hope your brother feels the same.”

 

Thor pushed open the door, and a book came flying at them, missing Bruce’s head by a breath. The man’s face turned a threatening shade of green before quickly recovering.

 

‘Loki, there are better ways of turning people away,” Thor chided.

 

Loki, curled up in his favoured reading spot on the window seat, scowled. “That was not intended for him. I was merely taking out my frustration – my magic is not working, even though my mind is sharper than it’s been – and who _is_ that?”

 

“You’ve been acquainted before. This his Bruce Banner. Uh. You might know him better in another...larger form.”

 

Bruce smiled wryly. “It’s not a form that I’m too keen on, so you’ll excuse me for not doing a demonstration.”

 

Loki glanced blankly at him before turning back to his brother. “And you’re just bringing old friends in here now without telling me, are you?” Faint spots of colour rose on his cheeks. “So they can see what I’m reduced to; little better than a dementia-ridden old man?”

 

“No one thinks of you that way, Loki.” Thor reached out, but stopped when Loki tensed and drew further into himself. “I do not need sympathy.”

 

Thor decided it would be a very bad time to even hint at how the opposite had appeared true the last time they had been together. “Brother. The reason I called Banner here is that I was hoping – as a doctor, an experienced scientist and healer – that he could help you with what you’re going through.”

 

There was a pregnant silence. “What I’m...going through?” Loki’s voice had turned low and venomous.

 

Bruce said, “Look, I’m not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with – ”

 

“What exactly did you tell him, Thor?”

 

“Only that you’ve lost your – ”

 

“I _trusted_ you!” Loki’s fingers gripped a particularly thick hardcover tome.

 

“I promise on our mother’s life, I did not tell him anything else – ”

 

Bruce held up his hands as he slowly approached. “You have my full vow of patient-doctor confidentiality, Loki, I won’t – ”

 

“Don’t touch me!” Loki threw the book at him, hitting him square in the face.

 

It was a very bad idea.

 

The roar shook every inch of the small chamber as what was a short, mild-mannered man became a mountain of green muscle in the space of two seconds. Thor was not as alarmed at a transformation he was familiar with as the look in Loki’s eyes. The latter was a trembling mass of limbs attempting to curl in on themselves, hair falling over a white, panicked face and eyes that were wide with abject terror.

 

“HULK DESTROY WEAPON,” the creature boomed, slamming a boulder-like foot into the offending book, and ruining a large patch of floor in the process. “HULK DESTROY _YOU!_ ” A large finger jabbed itself into Loki’s face. The latter was blinking and stammering as if he’d been hit by a pail of icy water.

 

As the Hulk busied himself stomping the offending book into a pulp, Thor laid his hands on those impossibly huge shoulders. “Bruce, listen to me!” He had to tighten his grip to avoid being shaken off. “You’re alright. There’s no danger. Loki threw a book at you – look at him, he’s completely harmless...”

 

“PUNY GOD CAUSE HARM. HULK _SMASH!_ ”

 

“He hasn’t caused any – much – harm for at least a year. Give him a break, will you?”

 

The Hulk growled and glared at Loki for a long moment before deciding Thor spoke true. Still, he insisted on having a closer look at his would-be attacker by bending down and breathing hotly over Loki’s quivering form before the rage ebbed from his eyes. Slowly he shrank, and twitched, and shrank further until he was back to being Dr Banner. A very naked Dr Banner.

 

“Goddamn, I wasn’t wearing my stretchy pants,” was the first thing he muttered.

 

Thor knelt by his brother’s side. “Loki? Are you alright...?”

 

“...too much...t-too fast...I can’t – ” Loki made a motion that Thor recognized as the hasty wiping away of tears.

 

“What is it? What did you remember?”

 

In response Loki only clamped his lips and his eyes shut. He was trying to hold back, or rather slow down, the barrage of images that was pouring into his head, triggered by the sudden appearance of the huge green creature. Shattered yet vivid memories of being smashed repeatedly into concrete and breaking half the bones in his body, and an alien army ( _Chitauri_ ) and a portal where everything was electric blue, and being violently hurtled through space ( _that thrice-damned Space Gem why had he ever_ ) and the Hawk – Barton – what a rush, being in control of someone so strong, though not as indomitable as the redhead spy; her name escaped him – the strange thrill that came with possession of another Gem, its golden glare trapped in that comforting blue glow, except he was not really in possession was he – never really in control, shouldn’t have bitten more than he could chew – and promises of power _(and the threat that followed if he did not deliver)_ and always _Thanos_ , always there; it all came back to _him_ , everything came back to that mad Titan and –

 

“I’m a fool,” Loki gasped. “I’ve always been a fool.”

 

Thor rested a hand on his shoulder, but he withdrew. “Please – tell Banner to leave. Now.”

 

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Bruce replied, taking a towel to wrap it around his waist. “Don’t mind if I borrow this?”

 

Thor smiled apologetically as Loki stared obstinately at a spot somewhere to Bruce’s left. “Listen, sorry I couldn’t be of more help. You know what my uh, condition is like...”  
  
“No. I’m to blame, Banner; it was my decision to bring you here.”

 

“Right. Then.” He looked about awkwardly. “I’ll come back when...if...well, when you’re ready.”

 

It was only after the door closed that Loki allowed himself to collapse in Thor’s arms. Somewhere in his gut the Stone stirred and pulsed coldly. Every so often it reminded him of its existence, never truly leaving him be. Was it draining him slowly, perhaps? Or turning him into...something else? He tried to swallow the fresh wave of fear that came with the restored memory of the threat hanging over his head. It regurgitated, to his despair, as another bout of shivering and broken half-breaths that only calmed when Thor’s hand buried itself in his hair and rubbed the nape of his neck.

 

“He’s not done with me,” he murmured faintly. “Even now he’s not done with me.”

 

“He will not touch you anymore,” Thor said with a fierce squeeze. Loki felt the might crushing his shoulders and was glad for it. Not entirely reassured, not even by half; but glad for this moment and this short-lived respite.

 

Memories he now wished he did not have gnawed at him like a worm at a tree’s roots. He knew what he must do, and it would destroy Thor. Thor, the one person in all the worlds who could give him what he needed, who seemed never to ask anything in return, who would surely be there at the end of all things when he set the rest on fire.

 

And he would, wouldn’t he? It was almost in his nature to turn against the very ones he held dear.

 

_He loves you. Do you not love him?_

 

“No,” he whispered fiercely as his nails dug tighter into Thor’s tunic.

 

“No, what?” Thor’s lips were in his hair, and it felt so good he could cry.

 

“I am not worthy of you,” was the answer he settled for. Which, of course, answered nothing.

 

Thor responded by joining him on the pillow-lined window seat, sitting behind him so that the large legs framed his and he had a firm chest to lean back on. The sunlamp was on and bathed both of them in its comforting glow. Slowly the tangle of frantic images eased themselves out before settling at the back of his mind. Thor’s arm was around his waist. Everything was perfect.

 

He let himself drift away as more visions of the home he had known slid into place. Somewhere beneath a tree heavy with gleaming fruit, he had leaned against Thor in this exact same fashion, the balmy evening air heavy and sweet. Something about the feel of the moment told him they had not yet exchanged their first kiss; but would soon, and then things would change forever.

 

“I was an idiot to throw that book at Banner,” he said at last, gazing at the crater on the floor where chunks of shredded paper were embedded in the cracks.

 

“Yes, you were.”

 

“It was a good book.”

 

“How _did_ you stow so many away while Asgard was burning about our ears?”

 

“I don’t know. Much of what happened is still lost to me.” He closed his eyes and settled further into Thor’s warmth.

 

“All in good time.” A hand stroked his cheek, and he leaned unreservedly into the touch. Thanos and his order had left him so marked that he was both afraid of and hungry for touch. A faint memory of Thor’s finger tracing his lips – of parting his lips to let it in, sucking playfully, needily – made him shiver with pleasure and with something like fear.

 

“What is it?”

 

Loki shifted as he formed his request in his head before speaking. “I want you to touch me,” he whispered, “but I need you to stop when I...”

 

“When you say so?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Of course.”

 

He inhaled deeply. With steady hands he took Thor’s hand and slid it under his shirt; guided it over his belly, his chest, made it drift lightly over his nipples. After a while he made himself let go and allowed Thor to wander freely over his torso. His breath quickened as he felt his nipples harden beneath the soft, steady movements. He felt... _ohhh._ Was his cock really twitching like that? He looked down and the saw the curve that had not been there before. At the same time, he felt Thor’s own sex harden against his back.

 

That, too, was familiar – achingly, sweetly familiar. He started moving against the erection as he slid his hand between his own legs and rubbed; hesitantly at first, then more surely. He let loose a small moan. It felt like eons since he had touched himself.

 

Thor groaned. “I don’t know how much longer I can control myself, brother.”

 

Loki’s breath caught in his throat. “Call me that again.”

 

A growl against his neck. _“Brother.”_

 

“Ahhhh...” Loki felt a new gush of heat in his loins. His cock was rock-hard now; he stopped palming it, not wanting to make a mess of his pants.

 

“Here. Let me.” Thor slid out from behind him and carried him to the bed.

 

He tensed; an unfortunate, trained reflex. “Don’t – ”

 

“Loki, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Ever.” Thor laid him down and made to pull down his pants. Slowly, he lifted his hips to allow it.

 

“Will you let me...get you off?”

 

“What?”

 

“Let me take you in my mouth, Loki.”

 

He frowned and bit his lip nervously, even as his cock twitched again, flushed and demanding. “I don’t know...”

 

“You’re not – ready?”

 

Loki breathed raggedly, sliding off his pants completely before leaning back on his elbows. “You have to stop if I – if – ”

 

“I know.”

 

He lay back and closed his eyes, but as Thor’s lips slid over the head of his cock, Ebony Maw’s face slipped unbidden into his head. He bit back a whimper and kept his eyes open, fixed on the ceiling. Thor was tonguing him now, licking at his sex till he felt he must burst from the teasing, before swallowing him again – half his cock was sheathed in that lovely, generous mouth now, and he gasped and clutched the sheets.

 

_You will be punished for your wanton ways, little prince_

 

He shook his head to clear out the voice, only for another to push itself in. Corvus the bone-breaker, with the sharp teeth that gleamed in the dark.

 

_You will long for death after we are done with you_

 

Now he was fully enveloped, Thor’s mouth and throat serving to pleasure him thoroughly, sliding back and forth faster and faster till he could no longer hold back his cries, or his climax. He came with a gasp and Thor’s name on his lips. A warm wave of pleasure enveloped him. But already arousal was mingling with fear – a senseless fear, that The Pain must come for him now.

 

He felt Thor lapping up the remnants of his spill; strong hands gripping his thighs, preparing him for torment, surely.

 

_Be a good boy now –_

 

He shook off the insistent hands. Still weak from his orgasm, he barely managed to crawl away.

 

“Loki, what’s wrong? Was I too hasty?”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. The voices were gone now, although he had to blink them away for good – like waking from a nightmare and making sure it was over for good. Or at least for now.

 

“What did I do wrong?”

 

He shook his head. “You did nothing wrong. It felt...it felt good.”

 

“And yet you’re shaking.”

 

_Stop it. There is nothing to fear. They are not here now._

 

“Maybe you’re just _that_ good. Don’t let it get to your head.”

 

Thor pulled him close. “I will if it brings back your sharp tongue more often.”

 

“Hmmph.” Loki let his head fall into the curve of Thor’s neck as the tremors subsided. He remembered the long golden hair more clearly now, and missed it all the more.

 

“We’ll make it work,” Thor assured him. “Next time will be better.”

 

The Space Gem throbbed in his belly. _If there_ is _a next time._


	4. Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor's cock has bad thoughts.  
> the tenuous road to recovery.  
> and we still don't know what Loki is up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize in advance for inconclusiveness; please don't stone me when you get to the end of this fic, which is doubtless shorter and less satisfying than you expected.

.

The truth was, Thor was growing impatient, and loathed himself for it.

 

He grew ever more grateful for the king’s duties that kept him busy. Now that the government of Asgard had been whittled down to half its size, the rest having perished with the fall of the golden kingdom, he was more often than not up to his knees in various trade agreements with merchant ships and decisions regarding allocations of resources and all manner of things requiring his opinion, signature or both.

 

And yet even when exhausted at the end of the day, he could barely spend a minute alone in bed or bath without intrusive thoughts of pale slender limbs and ink-black hair and green eyes wet and wide with lust. There were days when it took a great amount of self-control not to burst into his brother’s chamber and ravish him there and then. It would be so easy to undo the tenuous progress that had begun to show up in sharp little smiles and flashes of biting wit.

 

So easy to reduce him to a wide-eyed, broken doll who would never say no, perpetually fearful and submissive, who would always allow himself to be spread out and used –

 

Thor was startled at the cruel thought even crossing his mind. He looked down in disgust at his hard cock as if blaming it for such transgressions. But he knew it had to be taken care of, sooner or later. So he sated his pressing physical need by his own hand, trying not to imagine it as Loki’s willing mouth. Tried not to think of his brother who must at this moment be asleep, and vulnerable and beautiful with his tangled hair looking so soft...and his lips parting slightly the way they did when he was deep in slumber....

 

He orgasmed with a hard grunt and leaned his hot forehead against the cool wall, feeling his panting subside. Turned on the tap and let the cold water wash the spend off his fingers.

 

A knock on the door.

 

He composed himself as best he could. “Yes?”

 

Heimdall looked worried, which meant everyone else should be _very_ worried.

 

“An unidentified ship has been sighted. But it’s not getting any closer.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It is...lingering. It seems to be waiting for something.”

 

They hurried down the corridors leading to the command terminal. “Has it shown any signs of hostility? Of attacking?”

 

“I would be less troubled if it did. As of yet, we cannot divine its intentions.”

 

When Thor saw the gleaming black spacecraft hovering some distance away, he knew why Heimdall was perturbed. The thing somehow oozed silent threats without actually doing a thing. Its surface was threateningly smooth, blank, the mask of a creature who would lie in wait forever until its prey broke and gave in.

 

Except he had the bad feeling that the wait would not be too long.

 

 

 

 

_They are calling._

 

It had begun as a tight coiling in his gut that unleashed a sudden rush of cold fire throughout his veins. He had woken up next to the engines he was helping repair, thankful he was alone and no one had seen him collapse.

 

Being finally well enough to walk about and aid with non-strenuous tasks, he had accepted the challenge of tackling the blockages that constantly tripped up the nuclear reactor engines. The mech team on board was scrappy at best; the main problem was that Asgard’s technological prowess, having reached a glorious zenith several thousand years ago, had somehow plateaued and stagnated till even Midgard was now catching up. And their remaining engineers were aging and arthritic – a good number had perished with the fall of the golden realm.

 

Still, the young makeshift crew was learning on the job fast enough to keep the ship functional, albeit going at half the speed it was capable of. And most other hiccups were nothing a little magic couldn’t solve.

 

He enjoyed the feeling of _seidr_ coursing through his veins as he let it wander through the pipes and mechanisms as an extension of his mind, seeking out blockages or build-ups and _pushing_ at them – and feeling a bloom of triumph each time they dissipated. Loki was not the kind of person who naturally volunteered to expend effort unless there was something to be gained. But...well, his status as royalty aside, it could not hurt to prove his worth to the people – some of whom he might well need the favours of in the future. It never hurt to make a good impression.

 

Especially when it made him feel this intensely alive. Instead of the exhaustion he had fully expected after nearly an hour weaving his force throughout the steel contraptions without rest, he was wide awake and fairly crackling with energy.

 

That is, until the Space Gem suddenly awakened.

 

It was not the faint stirring or icy ebb and flow that occurred now and then, but a terrible burning. There was a cut on his lip where he had bit down to stifle a cry. When he came to again, his face was damp with cold sweat and his hands would not stop shaking. It would be useless to continue with his magic now. He pressed a palm against his stomach and felt a steady pulse there, like a monstrous second heart.

 

He knew what that terrible, steady beating meant. What he could not decide was what to do.

 

 _Betrayal is nothing new to you, is it?_ The Titan’s voice was silky, deep, deadly.

_Betrayal is in my nature._

A smile. _Then you know what to do._

 

The stone jerked and pulled at his insides again. He cried out, not so much from pain as from despair at the only choices left to him that were hardly choices at all.

 

The Gauntlet was nearly complete. United, the other Gems now called to their missing kin. Give himself up – lay himself willingly on the sacrificial altar – and Thanos would win. His death would be no sacrifice at all. Stay at Thor’s side, and perhaps this time hundreds of Asgardians would be slaughtered for real; not just the forty or fifty the Order had taken the last time. And in the end, _he_ would still come.

 

_“There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you.”_

 

“No,” he whispered, the floor cold against his back as he lay still and willed his mind to find n answer, the way it always did. He might not remember everything yet, but he knew that much. Success was always temporary; so was failure.

 

There was always a way.

 

 _There_ is _a way._

 

It was not a fine, clever solution – if anything it was brutal, desperate, messy. But it was all he had. Shakily, he got to his feet.

 

He had taken the Gem willingly into himself. Only he could take it back out.

 

 

 

 

“I thought ‘Marsgard’ was a working name.”

 

“But it does have a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

 

“It’s just, well, kind of...lazy.”

 

“Ohh I’m sorry. I don’t see _you_ expending a great deal of energy. You’ve a whole list of names, I suppose?”

 

Roskva, unwilling to get caught in the argument, fixed her gaze on her water-generating contraption that was now twice the size of previous models and functioning precariously well. As in there were a hundred things that _could_ go wrong. Pressure was mounting – they would reach the red planet in under two weeks, and Thialfi was still having trouble with the carrots and the grain-farming project. It seemed like Asgard could look forward to surviving on potatoes for the next three years. Give or take what they could get from trader ships with their increasingly low resources (Brunnhilde had made it very clear that they were _not_ trading anymore mead).

 

“What do you think, your Majesty?”

 

“I told you the last time not to call me that.”

 

“Right. Sorry, your – ah – Thor? Lord Thor?”

 

“Uhm. Just Thor.”

 

Thialfi smiled nervously. “Yes sir. I mean, Thor. What is your opinion?”

 

He was about to shrug, then exchanged it for a more dignified palms-up gesture. “We could always form a naming…council.”

 

At this point Roskva was compelled to interject. “May I beg to differ? Humans made the mistake of introducing councils for every little thing, which quickly spawned _committees_. And then next thing you know, nothing will ever get done.”

 

“But most great civilisations have councils,” countered Thialfi. “King Odin himself – ”

 

“Only for truly important decisions.”

 

“The naming of an entire _planet_ is not important?”

 

As Thor was wondering when would be a good time to call an end to the debate, while also wishing he had not walked in on it, a plump young man burst into the room. Thor recognised him as the Head Healer’s apprentice. His usually cheerful face looked thinner than usual in its worry. “What is it?”

 

“Excuse me for interrupting, Thor. But I...well – I found – in the healing chamber – ” He fumbled for a bit before spilling out, “Ithinkthismightconcernyou.”

 

Thor steeled himself for dire news as he let himself be led to the medical facility area. It did not prepare him for the nightmarish flashback.

 

Loki lay before him, barely conscious and white from blood loss, his leather tunic pulled back to reveal a row of clumsily stitched gashes. Thor was pulled harshly back to the heart of the cold barren moon where he had found his brother adorned with the artwork of his tormentors. For a heart-stopping few seconds, he thought Thanos’ Black Order had infiltrated the ship and obtained what they sought.

 

Then Loki opened his eyes and groaned, and his heart resumed its beating.

 

“What _did you do_ this time??”

 

“Brother, stop yelling. I can hear you fine.”

 

“What is this...?” Thor gestured to the smears of blood on the operating table, the scattered scalpels.

 

“I did it. I removed the Gem. I was the only one who could.” Loki’s voice was weak but steady.

 

“And where is it now?”

 

Loki shook his head. “If you don’t know, they can’t torture it out of me.”

 

Thor bent down to squeeze his shoulders. “If you think for one second I’m letting them near you ag – ”

 

“Thor, you’re embarrassing me.” He winced as he gingerly sat up. “After all I’ve managed to survive, I can live through a few cuts.”

“Those are much more than a few _cuts._ Damn it Loki, was it so hard to ask for some help?”

 

“I told you; I was the only one who could actually remove it. Although I admit, some help cleaning up would be appreciated.” He nodded to the young Healer. “Would you mind terribly?”

 

“Oh. N-no, not at all.” The man wove a quick spell around his hands to protect them, then started picking up the blood-smeared scalpels. His wide eyes fixed themselves on Loki. “Uhm...did you really have an Infinity Gem inside you? Which one?”

 

“That’s more than you need to know. Don’t worry – Asgard is safe. What’s left of it.”

 

“Do not tell anyone of this, or of anything you have heard in the last ten minutes,” Thor warned the young man. “If I hear word of it, I shall know who to blame.”

 

The apprentice Healer trembled a little and bowed his head. “Yes, T-Thor.”

 

Loki attempted to walk for all of four seconds. Then he gave up with another groan and allowed Thor to carry him.

 

He pulled the lapels of his tunic to hide the startling sight of his torso from anyone who might happen to pass through the corridors, thankful his brother had the sense to take a roundabout way to avoid too many prying eyes. Loki did not want people thinking he was having a relapse – especially not those over-attentive nurturing types who were all too prone to fixing him with the ‘poor darling’ gazes he loathed so much.

 

“There is a ship. A black ship,” Thor muttered. “Well within attacking distance, yet it has not made a single move.”

 

Loki nodded. “I sensed something to that effect. It will not stay much longer. Trust me on this.”

 

A sigh. “I can barely trust you take care of yourself – ”

 

“I’m taking care of _us_ , Thor. All of us.” The stitches burned, and Loki reminded himself not to tense too much. He had worked some spellcasting to complement his crude needlework and quicken the healing. It was not as good as it could have been, but he had been too shaken with pain and unwelcome memories of previous attempts to tear the Stone from his body to do much more.

 

Thor turned down the path to his chamber, and he shook his head. “No. Not my room.”

 

“Where then?”

 

He curled his fingers around Thor’s neck. “Yours.”

 

Thor paused only briefly before wordlessly complying. He helped Loki out of his leathers, replacing them with a nightshirt that would be less abrasive on the healing wounds. He was filled with a twinge of tenderness at how young his sibling looked in the too-large garment sized for him.

 

As he arranged the pillows behind Loki’s back, a hand reached up and pulled him close. They kissed.

 

After a while, Thor had to pull away. Loki fair whined with need.

 

“Loki. I cannot. My need is too great, and I have the terrible urge to... What I do next would hurt you.”

 

A second attempt was met with Thor’s palms against his chest, holding him off. Loki would have pushed back harder, but the sharp pull of his stitches stopped him. He felt the irksome tears of frustration sting his eyes. Here was where their needs diverged; for him, there were few things he had left that was not tainted by pain and fear. He knew Thor needed more, had held himself back all this while, and to keep teasing him would only test their relationship.

 

But _was_ it teasing? Was it so wrong so reach for what he needed? Surely Thor must know how hard it was to bare himself like this, to make himself so achingly vulnerable. “Will you make me beg even for a kiss?”

 

“Don’t look at me like that, Loki.”

 

“I’ll pleasure you if you want.” Rashly he reached for the faint swelling in between Thor’s thighs. “Let me please you, brother. A fair exchange.”

 

“Loki, please. These things should not be a _trade._ ”

 

“Why not? I remember enough about the world to know some things haven’t changed.” Loki continued stroking him. Slid a hand between his trousers, drew out his cock and softly squeezed, drawing out a moan from between gritted teeth. “For your kisses, brother.”

 

“Don’t be like that. You are not my whore, and kisses are not coin.”

 

“Far better to be a whore than what I was. A plaything to masters who abused me and gave me nothing in return.” Loki’s eyes shone with fury and with tears even as he intensified his strokes around his brother’s engorged sex.

 

“Stop, damn it.” But Thor’s eyes were closed in mounting ecstasy.

 

“But is this not what you want? Let me give it to you.” Something reckless in him wanted to push himself to breaking, to defy the trauma that held him back. He lowered his head to where his hand was. “You want my mouth, don’t you?”

 

“You don’t have to – ”

 

“You promise to hold me, and kiss me, and not push me away.” He licked the head of the flushed tip that glistened with a thick film of pre-come. The voices of Proxima and her husband crept into his head, but he did his best to ignore them.

 

“I-I promise. But...”

 

Then words failed altogether as Thor lost himself in a rush of bliss. Countless times before that tight, wet mouth had had him, and each time felt as good or better than the last. Cursing his own weakened will, he felt powerless to stop that tongue from doing what it did so well. Before he knew it he was on his back with legs parted to fit Loki between them. He moaned as wantonly as his brother, who was always the louder one, had ever done as he thrust forth his hips uncontrollably, and Loki took him in _, in,_ all the way in –

 

His climax arrived faster than he anticipated; and so satisfying it made the ceiling dance with white stars. For the space of a few seconds he was utterly content and unconcerned.

 

Then slowly his mind cleared, only to fill with sharp worry. He rose from the mattress and saw Loki lying stiffly on his side, hand curled over his stomach.

 

“ _Loki._ Your wounds. Did you hurt yourself?”

 

No answer. He crawled frantically to Loki’s side and lifted the tousled hair to see a face streaked with both his fluids and with tears, eyes resolutely shut and thin lips pinched as if to close out the world.

 

He brought a damp cloth and cleaned Loki’s face; the latter let him, unresisting, but also unmoving from his current state. “Loki, please. Won’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

 

Still there was no sound from between the clamped-shut lips. It was only when he warmed them with his own that he felt lashes flutter on his cheek, and a string of broken sighs in the dip of collarbone as Loki’s head fell onto his shoulder in that perfect place that seemed made for it.

 

“I chased them away,” came the faint murmur. “I made them go away. I had to – I had to fight them – they won’t leave me alone...”

 

Thor felt tears burn his own eyes as he held his beloved as close as was possible without breaking his wounds. “You shouldn’t. You should have let yourself heal. Oh, Loki...” Damaged or not, his brother’s mind was ever a bag of mad cats, twisting and clawing and rebelling both against the world and his own self. But there was another side to the claws and teeth too, he knew. Somewhere within there was a Loki who used to surface a lot more often, full of laughter and mercurial wit.

 

And for a brief, wonderful time, he had had this brilliant creature back at his side. Had held him in his arms in a much-needed reunion after they had lost everything in order to find each other.

 

“Why do you make things so difficult?” he said as he pressed his lips against Loki’s and gave his brother what he so wanted.

 

He wanted to ask about the Stone. About the black faceless vessel that hovered even now within attacking range without a single attack. He knew the matter would continue to nibble at the back of his brain and foster a growing fear for the safety of all of Asgard as well as his own, his most beloved.

 

Instead he buried himself in the deepening kiss as it grew urgent, rough, till Loki’s fingers gripped a handful of his hair and his hand tightened on Loki’s neck almost enough to bruise, and there was a hint of teeth in the collision of mouth against mouth. And then they fell back into tenderness though their hearts still pounded violently.

 

As for Loki, the truth within him burned as bright as the cold blue gem had. If only things could be easy. If only he could stop running and trying frantically to undo what he had done. He was tired. So tired. When finally they were both sated and breathless, he contented himself with resting his head on that broad, comforting chest and thoroughly enjoying the feel of the hand stroking his hair.

 

He had said before that satisfaction was not in his nature. And yet, in the hours preceding his inevitable act of betrayal, he ached for it with all his being.

 

 _“Despite all your cruel games and your pretence at coldness, you love him still,”_ came the Titan’s mocking voice.

 

Loki curled his arm tighter around his brother’s waist.

 

“I do.”

  
~


End file.
